Number One
by Ice Cream Kid
Summary: It's been sometime since Luigi decided to not go as Luigi anymore. Paper Jam is ignored in this story, as in Luigi and Mr. L are the same person.


The four ducts in the wall opened.

"A fitting end for filth like you!"

A mix of mud and sewage began to flow, quickly submerging him up to his ankles, which were shackled like the others. Reflexively, he started jumping to get above the swirling tide of sludge, but the restraints were weighing down his jump to one laughably low.

"It's always a hoot to see criminals trying to delay their execution!" laughed the guard, who was an Iron Cleft, proud, large, and untouchable.

Still jumping low and heavy, the said criminal caught a glimpse of the occupants, who were also chained up, of the cell opposite and at a higher elevation, above him. There were two Dark Craws and a Spike Top. A little disconcertingly, they fell down as one by one the guards sent them to their demise. He angled his head downwards, his cap brim low and stare hard.

"All those other guys just got a sword shoved through them..so what makes me so special, huh?"

The Iron Cleft met the prisoner's biting attitude with a righteous haughtiness.

"Those other guys are murderers, lower than scum for taking lives. But you took 80,000 coins from the vault, so you're lower than lower than scum."

The man was especially proud of his accomplishment. He stole 80,000 coins from the city vault in a single night. It hadn't been easy for him to empty out the vault during the short time when the security guards changed shifts. Nor had it been easy for the man to haul out the whole 80,000 coins in a bag small enough to hide. The man was so filled with pride at his crime that he started to cockily smirk at the humorless guard but the guard's self-righteous noble attitude was irritating him.

"Thanks, my life's so fulfilled, now I know how much lower than scum I am," the man retorted with sarcasm. He really wanted to stomp on the guard's head, but the bars were in hus way, and the guard was an Iron Cleft, immune to getting jumped on. The sludge clung to his body and his clothes as he jumped out of it, the disgusting splash reaching his chest. He tried climbing his cell wall but couldn't get a firm grip and he fell back into the sludge. He smelled awful and his drenched clothes were sticking to him and his body was heavy with the sludge. If the guards had just simply beaten him, that would've been preferable, but apparently he wasn't so lucky. Jumping ahead of the sludge tide and climbing the wall wasn't working, so he looked around his rapidly-flooding cell to see if there was any escape route he overlooked when the guards first tossed him in here. No hidden doors, no false walls, no switches, levers, or pulleys. The sludge slopped over his neck and he started swimming, splatting the sludge everywhere,and it went into his mouth and nose and started to choke him. Now things were getting rough, but he couldn't afford to panic, he had to keep looking for a way out..

Then he saw it. A loose stone block, disappearing under the sludge. He swam towards it, picked it up and hit the wall with the block until another stone came loose. The sludge submerged him completely, and he emerged gasping for breath, coughing and spitting out the putrid substance, his features obscured by the filth. He reached up through the sludge and pushed the soaked stone into the duct. He smirked as the flow lessened. He used the remaining block to loosen another one, splashing sludge everywhere and making the block stick, which started to alarm him, but he had an idea. He reached down for the chain binding his ankles and wrapped it around the block and pulled it out, swimming to the other side of his cell and plugging up the third duct. The sludge was well above his head now, so he swam down to plug the fourth duct with the last stone block.

A muffled sound of a door opened in the floor.

"What?!" exclaimed the guard. The sludge wasn't accumulating anymore. In fact, the sludge was draining, sloshing oozily. "This can't be!"

Mr. L grinned, thrilling in the guard's rage.

"That's my way out! L-ater!" the man in green and black clothes bid a slick goodbye as he followed the draining sludge, pried the drain cover open, and dropped into the hole. Upon witnessing this, the guard threw open the steel gate leading from the execution chamber and bellowed in fury,

"Alerting all guards, we have a prisoner escape!"

The sludge-covered man made his way through the dark underground passage, clean sewer water swirling on either side of him. The chains on his ankles clanked noisily as he ran and he tried not to trip over his bound legs. He shook his head in annoyance.

"I really've got to learn how to pick locks...I'm a thief, sure, but 'til I learn how to get locks open without a key I'm just a junior thief," Mr. L chided himself, being pragmatic as well as holding himself to certain professional standards. Mr. L wasn't worried about the excess noise he was making: the sewers were too narrow for the guards to fit, so he didn't expect anyone to pursue him down here. He sat down on the stone ground to catch his breath and try and get the unbelievably awful taste of sludge out of his mouth, but it wasn't working no matter how many times he spat. "Ugh when I bust out of here, I'm 'gonna eat twelve plates of pasta.." he promised.

Mr. L, spitting and coughing, found the ladder and climbed up out of the sewer, leaving the clean ladder sludgy and reeking. He immediately saw a bunch of guards coming around the corner and he quickly ducked behind the wall, holding the chains so they wouldn't clank. He couldn't do anything about his squishy steps though, or the obvious sludgy prints he left, but if he was careful he'd reach tthe prison gate before the guards could catch on. So he snuck, and crawled, and crept. But despite his efforts to put enough distance between him and the guards, he ended up behind two guards while another two were coming up behind him. He started sneaking faster, leaned closer to the ground, keeping as close to the guards in front of him while still being out of earshot, but he was way too close. His heart thudded louder and he nearly froze, wary that they could hear his heartbeat.

At the prison gate there was a small alcove to the side, barely discernible, and the thief dove into it, squeezing himself in. He barely fit and was all twisted up, the wall pressing on him on all sides.

"There is no way the prisoner could have breached the gate!" one of the guards concluded. "He must be still on this floor!"

The guards who were in front of him turned around and proceeded the other way, brushing right by him. "This way, hurry up, find him at all costs!" The second pair approached and promptly turned around. Mr. L started to squeeze himself out of the alcove and then his cap dropped on the floor, sending his eyes wide behind his mask.

"Did you hear that?!" yelled one of the guards who came charging back, the floor rumbling underneath his iron body. But Mr. L. could tell it wasn't just any of the guards. It was the eager one, the one who oversaw those other executions, and had almost drowned him in waste.

"That's him! That piece of garbage, too much of a coward to die like the other condemned criminals... No one has ever filled me with such revulsion...He's definitely on this floor..You two, alert all the other guards! Search this entire corridor! I will remain here." The dutiful, fervent guard positioned himself...right in front of the alcove. Mr. L mouthed a curse and abandoned his plans to untwist himself, much less get out of the alcove. The guard rooted himself in that spot for way too long, so Mr. L just stayed there not daring to move.

Finally, just when the black-and-green-clad man felt his joints would crack from being squeezed in the alcove for so long, the obsessive guard shifted position to meet another guard approaching the prison gate outside.

"Who have you caught there?"

"A Bandit! He's been committing murders all over Rogueport! He slipped up though. They always do."

"Good work. I will raise the gate and welcome him to his new home. He will be executed soon enough."

While the guards were talking, Mr. L was planning to somehow lift the key without the guard noticing the big change in pressure, but now the gate was open. One chance. The Bandit's doom meant his freedom. As the chained Bandit was dragged through rhe gate, Mr. L slipped by, and not without carefully snatching his cap back from the fixated guard and putting it on. The somber gate slammed shut, Mr. L now on the outside of it.

The first thing on the thief's mind now that he was out was not to get the chains off him, but to scrub himself and his sewage-drenched clothes. There were a couple of cops-just regular stone-bodied Clefts, but just as invincible as the Iron ones, guys he wasn't about to tangle with. He didn't know if those cops got the message from the prison guards that he had busted out, but he knew if he let them know he was out even if the guards hadn't put out an alert to the cops, he'd be in hot water, again. Though he wasn't sure if those cops were the same that had arrested him in the first place, they were definitely from the same regional police force, which was aware of his arrest and that he was supposed to still be locked up. The arrest after a complicated, difficult, but otherwise uneventful heist had been a result of him getting too cocky, so now he was being cautious. But it didn't take much to stay hidden, and he easily avoided them by taking the side streets and ducking into a building.

A short Spinia and a Fuzzy were drinking cider at a table. When the guy in green and black clothes covered in sludge came in, the Spinia nearly threw up his drink.

"Hey, are you bothering my customers?" the Bob-omb bartender barged in from the kitchen area and shouted. He took a look at Mr. L's shackles. "This ain't some halfway house, you wanna hide from the police, go find some derelict building."

"You don't even have a sign up, how can you tell the difference?"

"Why you ..!" the bartender's fuse literally shortened. He was one to not listen to the radio, so he didn't recognize this particular fugitive-if he did, he wouldn't have just let him stand there in his bar. Mr. L noticed the bartender's indifference to him and took advantage of the situation.

"Hey, your customer's about to pass out here, and I'm not leaving without a bath."

"You have to order something first."

Mr. L went outside the door, looked to see who else was in the streets: a Gloomba, a Rough Puff, and a Blue Toad with earphones on..He didn't usually go wallet-fishing: it was beneath his skill level, but the cops had confiscated the 80,000 coins he stole which he had on him the last time he had gotten arrested, so he was broke, so he bumped into the distracted Toad and as he excused himself, he lifted the bills in his pocket, and went back into the bar. To the bartender's surprise and horror, the unsavory and reeking fugitive plopped four sludgy coins on the table.

"Ok, ok, fine. Clean the counter up, then you can use our bathroom. But you better leave it how you found it, spotless!" yelled the bartender, glowing red as he was about to do what Bob-ombs do.

Mr. L signalled that he got it, and went into the bathroom. He flooded the sink with water, dumped soap in and crawled into the sink, drained the dirty water, filled the sink again, and washed and furiously scrubbed himself until he got all of the sludge off. He still smelled awful, but at least he was clean. He adjusted his cap and bandana, getting a couple of towels to clean the counter with.

He was about to leave but then remembered to clean the sink too. The small Spinia whirled into the bathroom and saw the guy in green and black, now cleaning the sink to thank the bartender.

"Wait a second!" squeaked the Spinia, spinning in a circle. " You're that notorious thief! The one that stole 80 bajllion coins from the city vault and made the policemen mad and then and then was sent to prison!"

Mr. L took a sliding step forwards, radiating hostility at the kid who unlike the bartender, listened to the radio, and thus, was a potential threat.

"Yeah, what's it to you?"

The Spinia skidded back.

"Um, I d-don't have any money!"

"Relax, kid. I'm not after your small change-" Mr. L heard a banging on the door and shout of "police". The kid didn't seem relieved that the cops had arrived, just oblivious. He tried using that to his advantage. "In fact, keep the rest, ya know what I mean?" he swiftly put the rest of the money onto the Spinia's head, slid under the bathroom stall door and jumped onto the toilet.

"Um..uh..."

Two cops came barging into the bathroom. From the sound of their voices and their heaviness they sounded like the regular Clefts he saw outside.

"Kid, did you see a man with a shabby mustache and a green cap?"

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh..." the small Spinia rotated slowly.

Mr. L was sure he hadn't been spotted back there, so he figured by now the cops had gotten an alert from the prison guards. He was hoping he paid the kid-who by now it was obvious was pretty dishonest himself-enough, or else he was sunk.

"Maybe?" the small Spinia asked with rising inflection. "How much is it to say yes?"

One of the Clefts hopped clear off the tile and crashed back down.

"Are you trying to extort money from us, kid? That's illegal!"

"Where's he hiding!" shouted the other cop.

"He went to the popcorn stand! He's gonna steal all the popcorn!"

The policemen weren't concerned about the threat of popcorn getting stolen-popcorn had minimal monetary value and was something only children would consider a precious item to protect, rather they saw the perfect opportunity to catch the escaped criminal.

"Thataboy, kid, you've done the right thing!" the Cleft praised, pleased at the kid's cooperation, and trusted the child's innocence.

The cops charged out of the bathroom, denting the floors, wall, and smashing the door from its hinges. That was the last straw and the bartender lost it, and wooden fragments from the bar came flying into the bathroom as the Bob-omb exploded.

"Ahhh! My counter!" When the Bob-omb reassembled himself, he got a nasty surprise in thst the counter still had sludge prints on it. "Where's that worthless guy! He still hasn't cleaned the counter and now it's destroyed! Why did I let a wanted man in here? I should've known the cops'd look for him! My door! My floor! What did they do to my bathroom tiles?!"

The small Spinia spun ovee to the bathroom stall and peeked under the door.

"I see you've got more. Gimme."

Mr. L jumped down from the toilet, sighed, climbed over the bathroom stall door, and forked over the bills. The kid Spinia laughed and counted them. Mr. L, thus broke, peered around the corner to make sure the coast was clear, and ran out of the bathroom. He then ran into the Bob-omb bartender, who exploded again, sending Mr. L flying out of the bar and not without injury. The bartender reassemvled himself and proceeded to glare at Mr. L as he limped down the main street and back into the darkness of the side streets.

He hadn't been out of the town for five minutes when he heard hushed voices in the plantlife. He peered in from.a distance and saw two small figures in bright blue clothes and white masks.

"I can't believe they got Boss.." sniffed one of the Bandits, lying on his back on the ground. Bandits were usually zipping around lifting mushrooms and wallets, so to see one so inert was pretty surprising.

"We'll avenge him," vowed the other Bandit, voice resolute. Bandits used a lot of expression in their voices, as they wore full masks that hid most of their features.

"How? We can't take on the prison guards!" a note of despair from the lying-down Bandit. Their Boss must've been the Big Bandit who he saw at the prison gate, the one the guard had said left a lot of bodies behind. But he knew way before, as far back as when he was in Rogueport, still wallet-fishing and stealing things not worth a whole lot, that not all Bandits were clean about it, some were muggers. But he wasn't scared of them. The other Bandit uncrumpled a paper from his clothes and pointed to the wrinkly flyer.

"There's a brand-new museum opening right here in town! Take a look at that exhibit!"

Mr. L's ears perked at the museum flyer, thst had among other things, a photo of a shimmering jewel, and he took a step closer, crushing a leaf and wincing at his mistake.

"Who's there?!" one of the Bandits stood up, holding up a knife with a shaky hand. Normally the Bandit was bold and fearless, but the capture of the Big Bandit had rocked him to his core.

"It's Mr. L," said the other Bandit, taking a defensive stance. "The terror of seven cities and four kingdoms..."

"Is he someone to watch out for?" asked the weepier Bandit. Obviously new.

"He's never deep-sixed no one, but if you cross him, watch out! I once had a Spiky Goomba pal. He got hasty and got in between Mr. L and a sweet score. Mr. L messed him up so bad that my pal was unrecognizable. Had to go to the secret doctor, y'know, the one who serves our lot. Wasn't the same after that."

The junior Bandit gulped.

"He only lifts high-profile stashes, so the cops finally stuck him in the prison that no one's ever busted out of." The senior Bandit trailed off, in fearful awe that, clearly, someome _had _escaped that prison, and was standing right in front of him.

The junior Bandit sprang up with an idea, running in place with excitement.

"A pro that tough..maybe he'll help us beat the museum security for tonight's heist!"

The senior Bandit jumped up and threw his hands back, his sleeves flapping in the breeze.

"Are you crazy?!"

"But, but we can't possibly do the job on our own!"

"We don't need no one else in our crew, " he said aloud, then dropped his voice to a faint whisper. especially a freak like Mr. L."

But the Bandit wasn't whispering quiet enough for Mr. L not to hear him. Ouch. But, they weren't worth his time, so he headed off.

He was almost out of the wild area when a Fuzzy, a Shady Koopa, a Spania, a Hyper Goomba, and a Ruff Puff ambushed him, with an assortment of maces, crowbars, and axes.

"1,000,000 coins for Mr. L. Heheh-heh, we've come to collect!" grinned the group. "And look at that, you've got leg-irons on already, saves us the trouble!" the Spania leered.

Mr. L didn't turn around to face them, showing them his disrespect. Sure, he was embarassed at being in shackles, because that means he was signalling to the whole world that he had messed up and had been caught. But, he wasn't about to show these overeager idiots his hurt pride.

"Oh, for who?" he asked casually.

"The police're offering 10,000 coins." the Hyper Goomba champed at the bit.

"Ha! That's all? Chump change!" Mr. L derided and gestured with his grey-gloved hands at them with prideful contempt. "Isn't it obvious the cops don't want to shell out any more cash than they already have to bring me back to prison, so they're foisting it on you?"

The group had looks of upset shock.

"Just..just shut up!" yelled the Spania. Mr. L smirked.

"So who's offering the 1,000,000?"

"The Piantas," answered the Shady Koopa, leaning slightly back with his scaly arms folded. Thst was the first thing that the Shady Koopa had said. Mr. L could tell he was sizing him up and if anyone would be tricky to take care of it was the Shady Koopa.

"Figures. Well then, come at me."

With a valiant yell the bounty hunters ran at him, only to be stomped on. Even with the restraints Mr. L could jump high enough so he landed on their heads hard, giving the Fuzzy a severe concussion, breaking the Spania, shattering the Ruff Puff into smaller clouds, and crushing the Hyper Goomba so that he was begging for death.. Sure enough, the Shady Koopa got up after the heavy blow and ran at Mr. L. Mr. L kicked him in the scaly gut, bruising the tough turtle and knocking off his shades. Not wanting to be humiliated further, he retreated into his cracked shell and sped away.

The grove was silent as Mr. L went through their pockets. "Nope, nothing. Oh well. Heh. They really wanted that reward."

After that tussle, Mr. L really wanted a shroom tea. The cheapest one. It just so happened that a few weeks before he got nabbed the Toads had made an announcement for branches outside of the Mushroom Kingdom, so he headed there. It turned out he didn't hand over all the money he had lifted from the distracted Toad, and he had withheld five coins.

He was still cognizant that he was shackled, so he stayed hidden under a tree while all the other customers got their tea. While he was waiting, he took a quick glance at the clientele: there were four Toads and a Goomba...nope, not worth going through their pockets. After the last Toad skipped off with his drink, Mr. L came up to the tea stand and laid the coins down.

"Hi, welcone!" the Toad with red polka-dots on his mushroom cap chirped brightly. "What tea would you...like." his enthusiasm waned. to..day..,"

The Toad stared up at the man in black and green clothes, and he pointed, shaking with fear.

"You're..you're that notorious bandit..not only are no coins not nailed down safe, but you've hurt people...the evil Mr. L!" yelled the Toad in a very particular raspy, ear-splitting shriek, slamming the shutters. The Toad was afraid even without having seen Mr. L's chains, or without knowing that Mr. L had been caught or escaped, as he didn't have a radio. Just seeing his masked face was enough to send him into a tizzy.

"Hey!" Mr. L rapped on the shutters. "I've got 5 coins Puffy-n'-Hysterical, are you gonna give me tea or not?" yelled the scary man, no, not a scary man... He heard terrible things only a year ago from other Toads, Toads that had witnesssed the evil Mr. L hurt people in Rogueport, in Glitzville, in the Mushroom Kingdom, in other kingdoms and cities. He didn't know that Mr. L had also hurt people _this very day,_ because there had been no witnesses when he had sent the bounty hunters packing. But what he could conclude from the other Toads' year-old accounts, was that Mr. L wasn't a scary man, but a scary _monster. _The Toad wasn't just scared, but sad too. Because the Toad noticed that the scary monster talked in a very particular accent, foreign to the Mushroom Kingdom, with his voice way high up in his nose..which reminded him of someone he knew, but he hadn't seen in a really long time, and he started crying behind the shutters.

"I wish Luigi was here! He would help me! He always helps the defenseless!"

"Luigi?" Mr. L scoffed, waving his arm in dismissive contempt. "Pfft, I don't know who he is, but whoever he is, he sounds like he's weak."

The Toad was still trembling from fear and sadness, but his tone warmed a bit even while hiding from the scary monster.

"He is! But he's nice!"

Mr. L's building anger tapered somewhat, and he went into a cool introspection.

"You shouldn't trust nice people," Mr. L warned.

"Why not?" the Toad with the red polka-dotted mushroom cap ventured to ask the scary monster a question, while quivering behind the shutters.

"They might be mean on the inside." And with that Mr. L started to leave the tea stand with five coins but stomach unsatisfied.

_That undergrown tea boy said my old name._ _A practically dead name._

As the thief who just this once, wanted to purchase something, was leaving, Toad didn't cry this time.

"No, what are you saying? That Luigi is really mean?" The Toad jumped up and down indignantly behind the shutters. "No! That's a lie!" the Toad insisted, then worked up his courage to stand up to Mr..L, who dared to say Luigi was not kind. "You're the one that's mean! A mean monster! No tea for mean monsters! Not now or ever!"

Mr. L flinched at the Toad's directness. The Toad shrieked more insults at him as he got farther away from the tea stand. He didn't care that the Toad couldn't believe that nice people could really be mean on the inside. That was the Toad's problem if the Toad insisted on being a gullible idiot. But he narrowed his masked eyes and clenched his teeth and fists at being called a monster. Being called a freak, it stung, but being called a monster, that was like a kick to the back of the knees. Yeah, he was pretty rough with those who got in his way, but a monster? Him? There were two kinds of monsters, the non-person weird abomination kind and the person-kind, and he had only been the former kind of monster and that was only for an hour or so when he was the host for the Chaos Heart. After the whole Chaos Heart incident he'd been treated as a monster. Ever since that day when the cops found him with that ruby necklace that he had stolen from a Glitz Pit socialite whose husband happened to be Pianta-affiliated but her husband, a , was untouchable but he, who at the time was just getting started as a professional criminal, was not. Since that day he got used to having to break out of jail. He couldn't afford to wait for the trial because his guilt wasn't in question and no one would vouch for him. At first he was arrested a lot, but in time he got better at not getting caught. More and more wealthy townspeople didn't recover their valuables once he stole them. The poorer townspeople empathized with the wealthier ones. Then there were the other thieves who he messed up bad if they got too close to a sack of coins he had his eyes on. So he was used to being treated as a monster, but this Toad was the first one to say it outright.

But beyond his resentment at the Toad calling him a monster, he was puzzled by the sad tone in the Toad's voice. He didn't know what the Toad had been crying for other than out of fear of him.

_He brought up that dead name right after hearing my voice. ...Do I maybe still kind of resemble the man I used to be? So that annoying pipsqueak must've known me from back then. But I can't for the life of me remember him...it's been so long. _

Just as Mr. L didn't recognize Toad, Toad didn't recognize the man who used to be his friend, for the man had changed so much, that only the monster was left.

It was past sunset when Mr. L got back to his fabulous home...after a particularly unlucky run at the Boo's secret, hidden mansion, he had lost the fortune he had gathered from inside the first mansion and the good old Professor compensated him for his trouble with a tent. At least it was a green tent. It taught him not to take that much of a reckless gamble again. He didn't consider even his riskiest heists, reckless, though, as he trusted in his skills, just not when he had to fight ghosts.

He plopped down on his green bed, no frame, just the matress, squashed in one corner of the tent and just laid there for ten minutes straight. Then he picked up a metal-cutting tool and finally cut the shackles off, freeing his legs and ending his embarassment. He tossed the stupid, movement-hindering object into the stove to fuel it and then put some water on the stove to boil.

As he boiled the water, he sat back down to think. A lot of things had changed since he had decided to go down this path. He rarely saw his brother now-in fact he had to actively avoid Mario who no quesion, would seek to take back the money, jewels, and other loot from him and give them back to their rightful owners. Another thing...he was hurt by the Bandit not letting him on their crew. It seemed trivial, but other thieves made networks and looked out for each other against the cops and the Pianta mob. So sure he was a little aggressive, but he wasn't so dangerous to the point that other thieves actively avoided him...was he?

But, it was just as well. Most of them couldn't steal anything more than the value of 10 Shroom Steaks and he'd be doing the heavy lifting on the job anyway. Only Wario and Waluigi were any serious competition for him, but they were hunting for ancient treasure in the burial grounds of some far-off kingdom. It took raw nerve to fearlessly raid possibly cursed tombs, so he almost admired the obnoxious pair, as near-equals, especially because he'd been nervous when rooting around for gold in the mansion's graveyard. But the others? Nowhere near his skill level.

And besides, he couldn't be sure which thieves had gone over to the cops or the Piantas.

_Only thing more embarassing to get caught is to get caught 'cause someone sold you out. _

Not that he minded Wario and Waluigi being out, leaving him the only serious shark in the pool.

The thief in black and green clothes added pasta to the boiling water and stirred it as the pasta grew tender. Night settled in. The frogs croaked. While the pasta was cooking, he counted the total amount he had acquired over several heists, which he kept in the corner of his tent behind a false wall.

It was a few jewels and trinkets that couldn't have been more than 11,000 coins, not even worth this tent.

Now if he was able to mimic the habits of the upper crust well enough to get into all those fancy parties, he'd make a killing. He probably should've been better at aping aristocracy-royalty since he had known Peach for so long, and the ghosts in the Boo's mansion were nobility too. There was even that one old grandma who called him.a funny man, but nobility and aristocrats were as funny to him as he was to her.

He picked up one of the emeralds he'd stolen and managed to hang onto-everytime he ran up a big score, either he got arrested and the cops confiscated it-and after this latest arrest, they foiled his escape, brought him to trial and won a guilty verdict, and actually put him in a compound actually built to be a prison-not the dungeons that they locked him up in a few times before-including the one time right after the Chaos Heart incident, back when he was still just an amateur thief, nowhere skilled as he was now, and even now, back in the sewers he had insisted he was just a junior thief.

Obviously, those dungeons were still prisons-the distinction between jails and prisons was really only made by cops and courts-but that distinction, as he well knew from experience by now, determined where he was held, how securely, and at what point in the proceedings against him.

The thief knew the dungeons held both alleged criminals awaiting trial, criminals awaiting trial, and post-conviction criminals after trial. He also knew the dungeons were old and not built to hold alleged criminals and criminals before trial nor convicts after trial long-term, especially him, who at the time, was a particularly slippery pre-trial criminal. At the end of the trial he was found guilty but the verdict was overturned and he was found innocent. That Goomba didn't do half bad a job defending him. And he even managed not to get caught for stealing the 1,000 coins which he paid her for her lawyering. It was a long time ago not long after the Chaos Heart incident, back when he was still going under his old name rather than the moniker Mr. L.

But he wasn't innocent, not even back then. But back then he was softer. Back then he was still moved by the concern and care from his brother and friends. He couldn't remember who his friends had been anymore, but that was besides the point. Back then he still regretted the very worst of all the bad things he had done and felt shame at standing bound in front of the Toads, not a citizen of the Mushroom Kingdom, but a captured criminal not belonging to Mushroom society. Though he had passed off to his brother that his first incarceration while he was waiting for trial as no big deal, to the point he was even able to find a trap door, leave the kingdom and come back, he did have a nervous breakdown.

Looking back on it now, that first dungeon he was in had low security, so it had been very easy to slip out and in even when he was still an amateur thief and reacted strongly to foul smells and filthy living quarters.

That first time that the Mushroom Kingdom imprisoned him was just the first of many times he was incarcerated by a previously regular friendly authority-being locked up by Bowser didn't count, since Bowser was normally not a regular friendly authority-. More often than not Mr. L ended up in jails, which were still prisons, at different police stations. They weren't designed to hold pre-trial, or if no trial, pre-guilty plea alleged criminals and criminals long-term, even though their security was tighter. But the last time he was in a police station lockup, he wasn't able to escape: both the compound and the security was tight. The cops hauled him in front of a judge and the judge handed down a guilty verdict. From that moment on, Mr. L was a convicted felon, not just a habitual criminal who they stuck in the small prisons, but a criminal they considered beyond redemption and who they stuck in the big prison. When he was in the big prison he got acquainted with the big prison's use of chains rather than rope, their near-airtight security, and their zeal to carry out swift executions, and he understood and appreciated how close he had been to getting executed. After the Chaos Heart incident, he only had gotten dragged out of the courthouse by the Toads to be informally executed. They'd been able to start giving him a beating, but the judge hadn't ordered him sent to Rogueport Square. Back then, he had gotten scared as soon as the Toads started hitting him. The last time he got incarcerated he didn't start getting scared until he was neck-deep in sludge, staring down the executioner. The first time he'd gotten caught by the Mushroom Kingdom, he'd been soft. But his time frequently in and out of small prisons had hardened him, so by the time he was put in the big prison he was far less fragile.

Life and loot, loot was less precious to him than life of course, but loot wasn't a distant second. He didn't always just lose his stolen loot to confiscation. Sometimes he dropped it down a chasm, or more rarely, Waluigi filched it from him after he had already stolen it. And so no matter how much Mr. L stole, it always ended up being a financial disaster for him.

With a sigh, he placed the five coins in the pile. He tasted the pasta, lathered the pasta with his homemade sauce and seasoning, turned off the stove, and started eating, savoring the first chew.

He hsdn't swallowed two mouthfuls when a hand wrenched open the flap of his tent.

"Well, well, we finally found you, Mr. L."

Four Piantas barged into Mr. L's tent, holding heavy spiked clubs. Mr. L's masked eyes widened and his mustached mouth dropped with startled surprise. The Piantas swung their clubs, trashing his table, the book that was on the table, his bed and his sheet and pillow, knocking over the pot with the pasta in it with s clatter, the sauce jar, the entire stove, which exploded. He quickly dove under the remnants of his bed which caught on fire and pulled out his hammer and went at the Piantas like a cornered animal, striking from below and breaking one of their jaws. When one was down paralyzed from the blow to his jaw, he slammed the hammer down onto the Pianta's head, crushing it..and unlike a Goomba, Piantas couldn't take that kind of hit to the head. The third Pianta drove his spiked club down at Mr. L, but he sidestepped last second and thwacked the third one into the fourth one with an audible crack. The fourth wised up and started to flee, but body went rigid as he caught the thrown hammer to the back of his neck.

Breathing somewhat hard after ending the four Piantas, and not particularly burdened by their demise, Mr. L entered what was left of his tent to salvage anything that was left. He rooted through the ashes of the hiding place for his loot and recovered only a charred emerald. Clutching it close, he put the emerald back in his pocket. Sure, because of the fire damage it was now worthless, but the fact it was the only thing in his tent that survived made him want to hang onto it.

And it was green.

Mr. L walked the deserted streets that were cloaked in darkness. He now had no home, not a coin to his name, and he had killed four Piantas, meaning the whole mob would probably be up in arms and throw everything they had at him. He wondered if going on this path had been worth the near-brushes with death, being ostracized from society, always on the run or looking over his shoulder, and being friendless. Hated and feared instead of being ignored and ridiculed. Should he just have stuck with being a plumber?

But, as he got to the museum, he put his hammer off to the side and tried the door, which was locked, and analyzed the most efficient way to break into the place, all those doubts melted away. He didn't rush at the glass window without thinking, because from experience that would set off an alarm or attract the cops. The easiest option was to pick the lock, but he hadn't learned how yet. Luckily, he had kept his metal-cutting tools in his pocket rather than place them back on the table, thus saving it from the fire that burned down his home. A little tense, he started to cut a hole in the glass. No alarm, so he relaxed, muscles untightening as he cut a hole just big enough for him to squeeze through without injuring himself. He dropped into the dark museum, and took a look around the place.

The waxy, shined floor lousy with with glowing sensors, the glittering gemstone sitting invitingly behind a glass door in a transparent case at the end of the dark hallway.

_The whole setup's both resplendent and pretentious! _

Mr. L glanced at the glowing sensors, and followed them up with his masked eyes, craning his neck which shifted his green bandana to the side. He could see they were wired up pretty obviously to an alarm bell perched near the ceiling. He noted two sets of sensors in his way. He ducked down and crept in between the first set of horizontal sensors placed somewhat close together, then turned to the side and sidled past the vertical sensors, which were so close together he could feel the sensors' heat on his back and his big round nose, and the red glow shone harshly in his masked eyes as he snuck by them. Immediately after clearing the second set of sensors, a third activated right in front of his face, which startled him so that he threw up his arms but quickly dropped them back down and he dipped under the sensor-which started to lower. Mr. L dropped closer to the floor to avoid touching the sensor-but it kept lowering. He pressed himself against the floor and stsrted crawling, barely slipping by the sensor and reaching the end of the hallway.

He was about to grasp the door handle.

_This one might be wired to the alarm.._

He tried cutting the glass, but he couldn't get a scratch on it. So bracing himself and leaning forward, his shoulders pressed close to his neck, he tried the door handle.

To his surprise, it was unlocked. He arched an eyebrow with suspicion.

_Either the museum staff has that much faith in the front door, or someone with a key's here. _

So he exercised even more caution, creeping on the balls of his feet to reduce the weight of his steps and holding his arms out for balance. His masked eyes darted back above, below, and ahead of him, ready to scramble away from or dodge any further defenses that the museum had. The museum guaranteed intruders lose a little dignity by making a smooth approach impossible: Mr. L had to sidle, squeeze, crawl past the defenses, anything but walk upright like a human being.

But for Mr. L, dignity came second to getting the loot. By slowly creeping he finally reached the front of the museum's expensive exhibit and smiled with low-key wicked satisfaction. This is why he kept going..sure it would be nice to not lose the fruits of his heists so often, but to some extent _it was the heist itself _that made all the aggravation and peril worth it. He observed that the glass case was hooked up to the alarm. But since he had reached the jewel, and any approach would alert the authorities to his presence, instead of trying to figure a way to open the case without setting off the alarm, and since he knew there was someone else in the building, and that someone was actually authorized to be here, he decided to wait for that person to find him.

A fussy Toad in a necktie, most likely the museum curator, came into the display chamber, turned on the lights, and gasped with horror at the masked thief. Mr. L's grin grew wider as he smashed the glass case, moving out of the way so the terrified Toad could optimally witness the glass destruction. The alarms went off, a sound that got the blood rushing in his veins. Because he was this close to the jewel, he no longer was focused on endeavoring to prevent the alarm going off. His heart pounded with sheer thrill as he grabbed the jewel from the broken display case and placed it in his trouser's pocket as the Toad flailed around in a circle shrieking at the top of his lungs.

"Looks like your exhibit's closed early! L-ater!"

"Oh nooooo!"

Without a shred of remorse and with renewed energy, Mr. L dashed out of the museum with the alarm still blaring, smirking at the Bandits who arrived a few moments too late and the masked figures in bright blue hung their heads in shame, regretting that they hadn't teamed up with the threatening but skilled man in black and green. But neither the Bandits nor Mr. L stayed in front of the museum for very long, and vacated the place when they heard the shouting, infuriated cops thundering towards the direction of the piercing alarm. Obviously, the Bandits didn't want to be found there and Mr. L didn't intend on being arrested again and going back to execution-happy prison.

The thieves got out of the area well ahead of the cops' arrival and slinked into a narrow, unlit alley. The Bandits looked at each other, took their chance and struck with a blade. Their target crouched and avoided their attack.

"Really? You had the chance to avoid a fight." Mr. L turned towards them and sauntered over to them with a menacing gleam in his masked could hear and feel his uncomfortably hot breath as he got closer.

The Bandits tried being tough, but their hands were unsteady, the knife was shaking.

"You-" he pointed to the more seasoned Bandit, the one who when they met in the woods had let the fresher Bandit know how he dealt with rival thieves. "already knew what I did to the last guy who got in between me and a shiny, expensive rock.."

The Bandits gulped.

"..But, unlike the other guys, it looks like you actually know you're in over your head." A bemused grin as he tilted his head. "I respect guys like that." One masked eye widened while the other narrowed as he gestured emphatically, sweeping his arm to the side and lurching forward. "Now scram before that respect wears out," he threatened. His low, yet pinched, nasal voice with its vocal sound that sounded innocuous to the point of sounding pleasant, or even-unexpectedly, since he was a full-grown man-cute, often belied his actual viciousness. In the past he had often surprised rival thieves, the cops, and the rich townspeople, who had underestimated him at first just because his voice was cute and soft. But they quickly learned to hate and fear him after he robbed the townspeople without mercy, grievously injured the rival thieves who got in his way and made the cops and the kings look like a joke. But for once, his cute voice didn't clash with his menace-his tone was filled with sharp, biting venom, and the way he wildly snarled the threat freaked out the Bandits. In the unlit, narrow alley, his snarling, poison-filled, violent voice, for a moment, was in alignment with the monster that he was.

The Bandits fled the dark alley in terror, grateful the fearsome Mr. L had not crushed them into the pavement like other rival thieves of his who had been much less lucky.

But these ones were seriously lacking in skill. It was why he went soft on them, they had had no chance of stealing his stolen loot. Mr. L twirled the large jewel he had lifted in one of his grey-gloved hands. The jewel's light reflected in his hungry eyes.

"Look at this haul!" Mr. L exclaimed with a cackle as he raised the jewel in malicious triumph. He then paused and grew contemplative, bringing the jewel back down. He held his stolen loot at his hip. Precious gems and cash, that was all he wanted, all that mattered to him...

Of course prexious gems and cash mattered to him a lot. But his reason for doing crime, for being a criminal, wasn't as simple. He sometimes wished that it was. He couldn't even look at himself in the mirror without his mask on.

"I'm_ Luigi-__-" _the thief clenched his teeth. His soft, nasal voice was edged with disgust. Even just saying his former, joke of a name churned his stomach, but it's not like he was fooling himself: he knew all too well that he was Luigi. He knew that he was on this path for the thrill but also to repair his own self-esteem after a lifetime of being unseen and ridiculed. "Number one!"


End file.
